


Idle In My Ideals

by leolovesnico (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Caretaking, Clubbing, Drugs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Guns, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Organized Crime, References to Canon, Swearing, Trapped In Elevator, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, Violence, one sided keith/shiro, police officer lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leolovesnico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith Kogane, low level drug dealer, is forced to partner up with a rookie detective in order to bring down drug kingpin Lord Zarkon<br/>Previously called 'Court Ordered Chaos'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Home Fit For A Criminal

The human corpse is a paradox, an underappreciated one. Nothing is more natural than a lifeless shell, having gone to rest now that it has fulfilled it's purpose.Yet, the reaction to seeing one of these husks is nothing less than shock and horror- a purely wrong and unnatural sight. But that was most people. Keith liked to think he was above this now though, having seen more than his fair share of corpses in his time; the experience was becoming as mundane as brushing his teeth. To say that he lived in a bad neighborhood was an understatement, but for a twenty two-year-old drug dealer, it came with the territory.

And yeah, a body or two showed up every year or so, but they handled it themselves. No one ever came snooping around asking questions. There was an unspoken agreement was the Seattle police department - it was just easier to let them do their own thing. The whole neighbourhood was a can of cocaine sniffing worms that the government didn't want opened. 

From the towering grey bricked apartment blocks, to the overflowing dumpsters leaving a lingering taste in the mouth of anyone who walked past, the whole place may as well have been wiped off the map. Keith relied on his quick reflexes and his instincts to keep himself afloat in this ocean of debauchery. Instincts were important in Keith's line of work, especially when he received the all important summons from Thace.

As soon he felt his brick phone buzz in his back pocket of his black skinny jeans, Keith followed his nose down the alley, being careful not to trip on the discarded beer cans littered across the ground by careless junkies. He had been on his way to a corner store to sell the last of his weed, but plans change. In this plan of work, you have to stay flexible. Turning a sharp corner, he slipped behind a makeshift door made from chicken wire, and climbed the ruins of what had once been a staircase, to finally end up outside Thace's 'office'. He knocked on the door eight times, to the tune of 'Uptown Funk'. Keith found this practice inane and childish, but he knew better than to question Thace's methods.

"Tellum?" Asked a muffled voice from inside.

"Ecaht." Keith snapped, rolling his eyes. "Ecaht. Ecaht. Ecaht. You know it's me, Thace. Open the fucking door."

 

Slowly, the knob began to revolve, guided by a hand on the other side of the door. Keith squeezed through the gap, and was met with the familiar sight of a gun pointed in his face.

The gun belonged to Shirogane Takashi, Shiro to his friends and 'Champion' to everyone who worked with Lord Zarkon. He was infamous in their organisation, breaking records for sales every other week, thanks to his good looks, and the mystery of the prosthetic arm and deep facial scar was enough to make anyone talk. He had been in the business for almost ten years, but for reasons unknown to Keith, he remained on the lowest tier of the cake. Never gaining power nor position. Keith had the feeling that Shiro could run the whole empire if he wanted to, which he didn't. 

"Put the gun down, Shiro. It's me." Keith said, backing away slowly as he raised his arms.

"You really shouldn't break protocol like that." Shiro said sternly, lowering his weapon. "It's there for a reason. To keep us all safe. What if you were being tailed?"

"I don't see the point in using secret identities if we're only saying them backwards. It's not rocket science for a cop to figure out." Keith pointed out, his heart pounding. 

" _Aliases_ , Mullet." Thace corrected, from the other side of the room. He was a fairly tall man, with a beard that closer resembled a bear's testicles than an actual beard.  He wore a loose-fitted pinstriped navy suit, crumpled and dirty from years of wear and worry. He was the closest thing Keith had to a father, and he would never let Keith forget it. "Not secret identities. We're not superheroes." Shiro interjected with a snort but said nothing else. "Nevertheless, please use the aliases when you address others. You would never call me by my Christian name, would you?"

"No, Thad Wallace. I would never." Keith said innocently.  

Thace exhaled loudly. "Now, Mullet. The prima facia here is that you're clearly not yet a stable fixture in our little business venture. Despite this, I must inform you of the fact of the matter: Your name has been mentioned among those in the upper echelon, and perhaps even to Lord Zarkon himself. You're being considered for a... promotion of sorts."

"You're joking." Shiro spat. "He's practically a teenager!"

"He has proven be loyal." Thace said, observing Shiro's disgust with curiosity. "Loyal and dedicated for the past six years, despite being so young. It's something Zarkon likes to commend in his-"

"Henchmen? Underlings?"

" _Employees,_ Champion. Employees." He turned to Keith, awaiting a response. "Well, what are you thinking? I feel that it would be a marvelous employment prospect for you, and it would almost secure-"

"I'm up for it." Keith shrugged, barely considering his choices. "I'm twenty two, I should be thinking about my future."

"That's my boy!" Thace said, clapping Keith on the back. 

Keith could feel Shiro's eyes boring into his back, burning through his thin cotton t-shirt. However, he remained silent. "I'll just collect this week's wares then, if that's all." He said nonchalantly, feeling beads of sweat begin to form under his heavy fringe.  Thace handed him his carefully wrapped packages, pointing out the code names on the label for each one. 

"This one," Thace said, holding a package marked 'Golden Bliss', "It's real good shit. Quintessence, a new one. I'd say charge them fifty bucks for gram. It's crazy good, makes you feel like the king of cloud nine city, you know? It should be a felony not to try it at least once, to be honest." He handed it to Keith carefully, as though it were a newborn puppy.

"Are you saying I should try some?" Keith asked.

" _Technically_ , no. But jack up the prices a bit, and no one will notice."  Thace replied with a wink. "Save it for a rainy day, eh?"

Keith thanked him, and made to take his leave. As he grabbed the doorknob, he felt a cold, firm hand clenched his shoulder, sending a panic down his spine. He reached automatically for his semiautomatic pistol in his front pocket. "Relax, kid." Shiro breathed into his ear. "I'll walk you home."

"You're doing okay, right?" Shiro asked Keith, as they trod up the stairs to Keith's apartment. "You haven't been taking anything, have you?" Keith shook his head. "I know I have no right to tell you what you can and can't do," Shiro said. "But we've known each other since you were a kid, Keith. I feel a responsibility to take care of you - you're like a little brother to brother to me." He smiled warmly. Keith nodded, wincing slightly. "I just don't think you should get mixed up in this shit any more than you need to. Or at all, if you can help it."

"If you hate all this so much, why are you a dealer?" Keith asked. "Can't you just buy your way out?" He held open his door awkwardly, waiting for Shiro to enter. He did not. 

"I wish I could tell you. " Shiro said, almost sadly. "The short answer is that Zarkon wants to keep me close, and I... have to..." He trailed off, suddenly consumed in thought. He looked Keith right in the eye, and sighed deeply. 

"Um... Would you like to come in?" Keith asked. The door lay wide open, expectantly. Shiro shook his head, and bid him farewell. Keith tried not to let his disappointment show as he waved goodbye. It had been the three hundred and twenty fourth time that Shiro had refused to come inside. Fairly unaccustomed with the classic throes of flirting, Shiro was a mystery to Keith. The older man seemed not to receive the signals that Keith had been desperately emitting for the past few years, to the point where Keith wondered if he was sending the right signals at all. All the other men he had slept with had been the one's flirting with Keith - he was a yearnee, not a yearner, dammit!

Yet, he recalled so clearly, the day he realised his admiration for Shiro was not so platonic as he had originally thought. They had been on a job together, selling acid in a sleazy downtown club called, "Scarlet Royale'. Keith was eighteen at the time, almost nineteen, but the bartender didn't need to know that. Toward the end of the night, Keith began to feel dizzy. He had gripped Shiro's hand, whispered to him that he was seeing stars. Stars and planets and galaxies.

He remembered minty breath on his ear, as Shiro murmured words of comfort and encouragement, as he walked him home, and tucked him into bed without a second thought. When Keith had awoken the next day, he had found a cooked breakfast and a glass of fresh orange juice awaiting him, along with a note reading, " _I hope you're feeling better this morning! :) I took care of everything, don't worry!!_ " He could remember the feeling of his heart swelling with gratitude, already vulnerable to any sudden attack of emotion when he found Shiro sleeping soundly on his sofa. He was snoring lightly, his mouth hanging open with a little bead of drool rising and falling as he breathed. And that's when Keith's heart dropped, shattered by the huge crush that had suddenly manifested.

It wasn't much, Keith had realised. Shiro had done what any decent person would in that situation, and yet the sight of him dozing on a sofa, with a soft pink glow in his cheeks and the moth-eaten blanket pulling right up to his face, made him melt. 

His phone buzzed, another message from Thace; "new club open 2nite will B on fleek wif young ppl hit it up!! it called electric liberty ;);););););););););)" Keith cringed at what could only be one of the worst text message he had ever received, but did as he was told, and began to get ready. A quick Google search told him not only the address, but also that it was owned by Gregory Wilson, whoever that was. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Keith managed to get into the club early. He tied his ever-growing hair into a bun, and wore a grey button up shirt with dark skinny jeans and imitation red converse, in an effort to fit in with the clubbing crowd. The place wasn't too dingy, considering it was in a rough area of the city. After a quick elevator ride up, Keith was pleasantly surprised by the interior.

One end of the room was lined with real leather upholstery in it's booths, with tables and chairs squashed into an albeit minuscule corner. The other end of the room used a while linoleum flooring for it's dance floor, to match the black and silver patterned wallpaper. Keith had a feeling that colour wouldn't last long. A DJ booth hung from the ceiling, only accessible from behind the bar. Before long the building flooded with people, just as he had hoped. He was practically invisible. He settled into a seat by the bar, and ordered a fuzzy navel while he waited for the dancing crowds to become inebriated enough to buy some ecstasy, or maybe some quintessence, if he could sell it to them. 

 After a few hours, he approached a likely looking candidate, schmoozing with a girl who looked far too young to be in a club. He thought that, maybe, if he distracted the creep from her, he'd be doing her a favour. In his heart, he knew that wasn't true, but at the end of the day, it wasn't his problem. He was just trying to make a living. "Hey." He said to the man looming over him. "Hey, man. You're looking a little lifeless over here. Want a little boost?" He asked patting his pocket. 

The man considered the option, "What've you got?" He asked, regarding Keith suspiciously. 

"Name something."

"Crank?"

Keith shrugged. "Yeah. I've got that, but I don't think that's what you really want right now." He reached into his pocket for one of the little baggies of quintessence he had packaged earlier. It was a gold coloured liquid, with a texture not unlike that of washing up liquid. "You should try some of this shit, dude. Golden Bliss. Makes you feel on top of the world."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, his hazy brain trying in vain to weigh up the pros and cons. "How... how much is it?" He questioned, feeling his his jeans for his wallet. 

"Sixty bucks a pop."

"Pffft. As if, bruh. That's like... cocaine money! No way." He snorted, "I'm not a fucking idiot. Gimme the crank."

Keith made the exchange, accepting one hundred dollars in exchange for three ecstasy pills. The man clapped his back in a gesture of compassion and friendship, before popping a pill in his mouth.  Keith strutted away, feeling pleased with himself. The thrill of the sale never truly wore away.

"Hey! You!" Keith heard, a voice, above the thumping music and dancing crowds. "You with the hair! Stop right there!" The voice yelped, getting gradually louder. He spotted a guy not much older than him struggling to get past the hundreds of sweaty clubbers to get over to him. He was the lanky beanpole type, with a Southern Miami accent and stench of perpetually Trying Too Hard. "Was that  _ecstasy_?" He roared, in desperation. The thumping came to sudden halt. The dancers stood still, looking around in confusion and irritation. "Seattle Police Department... Stay where you are...?" The police man croaked, realising he had broken his cover. 

It dawned on Keith that he had been caught.  _Shit._   He sprinted towards the doors, his heart throbbing wildly against his chest. Through the heavy double doors, he realised his had to make his decision quickly. Stairs, or elevator? Stairs or elevator? The police officer couldn't have been far behind him. Stairs or elevator?

The shrill ding of the elevator rang in Keith's ears. As the doors opened, he made his decision. He dove across the landing, and into the elevator, mashing the down button manically. "Hold the FUCKING DOOR." The police man howled, bursting through the club's exit. The doors of the elevator slowly began to close with a screech. He took a few steps backwards for speed, and leaped through closing doors, landing with a loud thwack.

Keith felt his heart in his throat, and considered pulling it out himself, just so he wouldn't have to go through with this. The police officer lay sprawled on the floor, looking shaken, and probably surprised that he had managed to make it in time. "You're... under arrest..." He wheezed, as the elevator ground to a halt.

And the lights went out.


	2. Great Expectations: Miami Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance struggles to meet his family's expectations, no matter how hard he tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good start to my schedule! :D Hope you guys enjoy!

Lance could still remember the day he left home. His papá's quiet pride, the pleasant ruffling of his moustache as he granted Lance a firm salute when the bus pulled away. His mama wailed, unwilling to free him from her maternal clutches until the very last minute. His five younger siblings, not fully understanding the situation, ignored their despairing parents. They did not comprehend that Lance was leaving home, having accepted a job in Seattle, and this fact would only dawn over them when they found an empty chair at the breakfast table the next morning.  
  
Even a year later, Lance had regular Skype dates with everyone he had left behind - and even a year later, none of them understood why he chose to move to what was probably the furthest city from Miami that the USA could offer.  
  
The truth was that Lance felt that he needed a clean slate. His father, and most of his extended family were highly respected members of the Miami Police Department, and although none of them would ever admit it, Lance knew that he had only gotten as far as he had because of nepotism. He took the job offer in Seattle to prove to himself and his family that he could build his career without them. It was one of his few times in his life he had ignored the warning feeling in his gut, and took the risk. And he regretted it ever since.  
  
Captain Allura Altea had no time for his bullshit, and it terrified him. She drove a tight ship, telling each of her detectives, "Any insubordination and I'll have your dicks on a chopping board." Lance fell in love instantly.  
  
On the first day on the job, he met his partner, Henry 'Hunk' Garrett, a well built Hawaiian man with an uncanny ability to figure out the outcome of a case before Lance even had a clue. He was greeted with a warm hug, and a invitation to join Hunk and his girlfriend for drinks that night. He also met Pidge, the station's tech whiz kid, interning thanks to the handiwork of their father, Samuel, who was Captain at a bigger branch across the city. Pidge, despite not being paid the full wage, was often integral to the to the crime solving process - with an increasing frequency. The rise of the digital age accompanied a rise in cyber crimes, which Pidge was able to intercept with their hefty setup of high tech monitors and sophisticated software. Despite being just nineteen, and sometimes making jokes that he didn't understand, Lance and Pidge became fast friends.

Sadly, Lance's dick had been on the chopping board more times than he liked to admit. It wasn't that he  _wanted_ to disobey his orders, but the Allura's plan of action never agreed with his own. He just wanted to impress her, and his family. He couldn't even use the excuse of instinctual reactions, or not thinking because it was simply untrue. Lance thought too much. He thought everything through, weighing up every action with precise detail and choosing what seemed clear to him was the best course of action. Lance's problem was thinking too much. He overanalysed everything, whether it was the carousel killer's motive for hanging his victims off the carousel rounding board, or if Allura's friendly smile when he handed her a coffee meant anything more that its face value. 

Unfortunately, the victims were hanged of the rounding boards because of a childhood memory that killer had with their abusive mother - a far shout from Lance's claim that the engineer hated his job and wanted others to suffer as he did. The carnival left town quickly, vowing never to return, as did Allura's patience.

"This your last chance, McClain." She warned, "Another blunder like that, and we're sending your ass back to Miami." She loomed over him, burning with her laser point eyes. Lance felt like a misbehaving schoolchild again, sensing shame and disappointment bubble up from the bottom of his stomach. His head dropped. He didn't know he could face his family again, if he was fired. Allura softened, observing the distraught washing over his face. "You're a good officer, Lance. You and Garrett have cracked more cases over this year than I did in my first year as a detective. But, you have a long way to go." She paused, building gravitas. "A long, long way. This job could be great for you, if you'd just do what you're told."

 And thus, Lance was handed what could be his last case: a heroin variant, Quintessence, was growing traction thanks to a mysterious drug lord, Lord Zarkon. Thanks to Pidge's efforts, they had uncovered his real name was Gregory Wilson, and he was opening one of his many clubs in the city that very night. "We've got no eyewitness reports, or like, pictures of him." Pidge said offhandedly, typing rapidly on their keyboard, "So we've no idea what he looks like, but the club looks like the first in a chain. I'd bet he'd make an appearance."

"I want the two of you to go undercover tonight," Allura said to Lance and Hunk, using her index and middle finger to point at them over her desk, "If you get a positive sighting, call for back up.  _Only if you get a positive sighting._ _"_ She repeated, staring at Lance pointedly. "Be as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing we need right now is an audience."

"Don't even sweat it, Captain." He replied, winking. "I'll get that motherfucker behind bars before you can say 'dinner and a mov'-" Hunk nudged him roughly in his ribs before Lance could finish his sentence. They shot each other a frustrated glance, having learned to communicate non-verbally over the course of the last year. After a few seconds, Lance realised it was a mercy nudge, better in the long run for everyone involved. "Before you can say SPD!" Lance continued, barely missing a beat.

Allura raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly what had been about to transpire. "Right. Anyway. You should go home and get changed. I'll email you both the address, the opening is in two hours, so be ready. No, be early, just in case. Be outside the club in an hour." 

Lance nodded stiffly, before setting off home. After a shower, he picked out a loose tank top, subtly adorned with a wash of the bisexual pride flag, with black skinny jeans and blue vans. Sure enough, as he was making himself a quick PBJ, his phone pinged with Allura's email. He gulped down the sandwich, and ran to catch the next bus heading downtown. Hunk was already outside when Lance arrived, early as usual. He stood across the street from the club, chatting with his girlfriend. Lance approached them hesitantly, hoping that he wasn't interrupting anything important. 

"Hi Lance!" Shay waved, spotting he coming. "I was just telling Hunk - this place is not too far from my apartment building! I hope that we can go together some time, if everything goes well tonight." She said, directing the last part at her boyfriend.

"Yeah, hopefully!" Hunk said. "Honestly, I doubt this guy will show up tonight. His name hasn't popped up in the United States for a few months, I don't think he'd make a reappearance for this. This'll be an easy night - might as well enjoy it, huh Lance?"

"Uh... Yeah." Lance replied, distracted. He was already on thin ice, he had no intention of taking anything easy. "I think we should get in line, dude. It looks like it's going to get busy." Hunk nodded, and bid farewell to Shay. After half an hour in line, they trawled up the stairs and opened the heavy wooden doors to an almost barren club, that was quickly filling up. Lance nestled into a booth in the corner, using his height to his advantage - arching his neck inconspicuously to get a good overview of the club. His eyes flitted back and forth between each end of the room, begging for some sign of drug abuse but praying there would be none. 

"Relax, man." Hunk said, raising his voice over the loud music. "Wilson's not an idiot - he's not going to show up here in person and start waving his money and shit in people's faces. He's smarter than that, and you are too."

Lance shifted uncomfortably in the booth. "I don't want to mess up again, Hunk." He confessed. "And it's not about Allura this time. It's a matter of pride. I can barely look myself in the eye as it is, never mind my papá."

"Well, you're sitting over here all tense and awkward," Hunk pointed out, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's not exactly blending in, my dude. Get up for a dance or something. Order a mocktail."

"We're undercover!" Lance hissed, scandalised.

"'Exactly." Hunk said. "If you want to get anywhere in this job, you have to dive in. Give it one hundred percent. Stick a Shirley Temple up your ass.

With the neon lights glaring in his face, Lance made his way through the pulsating crowd to the bar. "Hey." He said gruffly to the bartender, who had his back turned toward the cash register at the back of the bar, a tall black man with brown dreadlocks reaching midway down his back. "Can I get two Shirley Temples, one for me and my friend over there?" He gestured vaguely to Hunk behind him. 

"Your boyfriend?" The bartender asked, turning around to face Lance. He winked, dazzling Lance for a moment. He was a Texan man, with cheekbones that stabbed Lance's heart almost immediately. 

"H-Hunk?" Lance said, blushing. "I wish, man. He'd be a real catch. Sadly, my guy Hunk is spoken for."

"So, you're single?" The bartender pressed. He bent down, leaning on the bar surface. "I'm Harry, by the way." He said, looking Lance up and down with a joking smile on his face. 

"I am!" Lance laughed, "Hopefully not for much longer, though. Lance McClain has his eye on a beautiful lady." He said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I've had this sort of will-they-won't-they thing going on for the past year, you know how it is."

Harry looked crestfallen, but not too fazed. "Best of luck then, dude!" He said warmly. 

"I'll tell ya what though, Harry," Lance said, grabbing a napkin. "If it's not meant to be, I'll give you a call." He fished a pen out from his pocket and thrust it towards his new friend. 

"Sweet." Harry winked, scribbling his down his name and number. "I'll get you those Shirley Temples now, on the house!"

"...Wow." Hunk laughed, as Lance approached the table once more. "Pants McClain strikes again, huh?"

Lance winked, handing him his drink. "What can I say?" He smirked, "I'm hot shit." Then, something caught his eye. " _Did you see that?_ "

Hunk whipped his head around, scanning the bar diligently. "A dealer?" He guessed. 

"I think so. Guy in the ponytail, about two meters from the bar. Do you think it's Gregory Wilson?" Lance whispered, with a new tone of urgency in his voice. 

"I doubt it." Hunk said cautiously. "He's too young."

"We don't have a profile of him though. We have no idea what he looks like." Lance pointed out. "We should arrest him. Right now."

"Yes. Obviously. He's a drug dealer, Lance."

"Yeah, but what if it is Wilson? We especially can't let him get away. We should just jump on him now."

"Captain Altea said to call for back up, only if we definitely spotted Wilson. Don't do anything to draw attention to-"

"There's no time for that." Lance snapped. He sprang of his seat, and began to push his way through the crowds, much to Hunk's dismay. "Hey! You!" He shouted. "You with the hair! Stop right there!"

The dealer turned almost immediately, caught like a deer in headlights. There was no doubt in Lance's mind that this was Gregory Wilson. "Was that _ecstasy_?" He demanded loudly, as the music halted suddenly. The people stopped dancing, staring at Lance in fear. Allura's voice played back in his mind: "Be as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing we need right now is an audience." _Shit_.

"Seattle Police Department... Stay where you are...?" Lance croaked, his heart sinking. 

Wilson spun on his heels, fleeing through the heavy double doors.

Lance sprinted behind him, speeding up as the crowds parted for him. He burst through the doors. Wilson was already in the elevator frantically pushing buttons. The doors were closing. Lance clenched his jaw, and leaped across the hall, though the closing elevator doors. He landed face down with a worryingly loud thunk on the elevator. He couldn't believe it. He had trapped Gregory Wilson in an elevator. Allura would be so proud. "You're... under arrest..." He wheezed, satisfied with himself.

Sadly, his satisfaction lasted just a short moment, as the elevator lights flickered out, and the mechanical whir came to a cease.

The elevator was stuck.

"...What the FUCK." Wilson said in disgust. For a short moment they were in a silent darkness, barely recovering from the shock.

 "Gregory Wilson, y-you have the right to... remain silent." Lance said hesitantly, slowly picking himself up from the elevator floor. "Um. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law."

 

"As opposed to what? A court of tennis?" Wilson said. "And my name isn't fucking Gregory Wilson."

Lance took a mental step back, too unaware of his surroundings to be confident enough to take a physical step back. He recalled what Allura and Pidge had told him earlier that day: Drug Lord Gregory Wilson, or Lord Zarkon, opened a nightclub, and would likely make an appearance of some sort. "Bullshit." He said loudly. "Your mind games won't work on me, Zarkon!" He paused, "So if you could like reach your arms out or something. Y'know, so I can cuff you... Like, I can't see where-"

He felt the end of a cold metal cylinder press again his head. "I'm. Not. Lord. Zarkon." The mystery man spat. "Another word and I'll shoot."

Lance gulped loudly, feeling sweat drip down his back. "I-I-I don't think you thought this through." He stammered. "If you're really not Zarkon, y-you might be able to get a plea! B-But not if you kill me: We're the only two in the elevator, and my partner saw me j-jump in after you, and has probably called for back up spread across both floors. You'll get a life sent-"

"You've got a mouth on you, huh?" The force behind the gun eased up slightly. "... What kind of plea are we talking about? What's in it for me?"

"Well," Lance said, beginning to gain back his confidence. "If you can give us any information on Zarkon that leads to his eventual internment, you could get a shorter sentence." In reality, he had no authority to ensure this, but he was sure he could talk Allura around. 

The gun was removed from Lance's head. "What kind of information?" 

"It depends-"

"Say I had a... friend." The man interrupted. "He's not keen on the whole deal with Zarkon. I think he's being forced into working for him, or something. Is there any way I can exchange information in return for his safety?" There was a clear change in his tone, he spoke faster, with a twinge of compassion. 

"...That could be arranged." Lance said evasively. He had no clue. "We will have to take you into the station though."

He heard a heavy sigh coming from the darkness. "Fine. Deal." 


	3. Shitting in the Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance receives a stern lecture from his superiors, while Keith finds himself incarcerated for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Slightly behind, but I just started uni so updates could go a little awry hahah enjoy!~ (hopefully)

Their hands clapped together firmly, warm and clammy. Keith wondered how long a handshake was supposed to last and began to pull away, just as Lance squeezed tighter. "Okay." He said firmly. "Don't move, I'm gonna cuff you." Keith sighed heavily, but did as he was told. _So much for that promotion_. He felt a sense of shame, although he was probably not the first of Lord Zarkon's employees. He felt as though he was letting Thace down, after years of moulding and training; he had learned nothing.  _Nonsense_. He told himself,  _It's for Shiro. It's all for Shiro._

As Lance clinked the handcuffs shut tight, the back up light kicked in, allowing the police officer and the drug dealer to meet face to face for the first time. Lance cleared his throat self consciously, extending his hand. "Lance McClain." He said gruffly, hoping to appear cool and detached. 

 

"Mullet." Keith replied. He cringed inwardly as he confessed his codename, wishing he'd fought harder for something else when he was eighteen. In all fairness, he liked his hair long, it wasn't inaccurate.

"...Mullet? You're joking, right?" Lance snorted. "What kind of mother names her cariño after a dumb hairdo?"

"I wouldn't know, I never got to ask her." Keith snapped sarcastically. "It's not my real name, dumbass. It's just what people call me." Perhaps he was being unnecessarily harsh, but to be fair - he had just been arrested. Plus, the mention of his mother stung like a bitch. 

"Well then, what's your real name?"

"... Keith." 

Lance grabbed Keith's limp hand, and shook it firmly. His father always told him that a firm handshake was a sign of strength and control. He wanted to make sure that Keith knew who was in charge here. 

Then, reality set in. "Fuck!" Lance exclaimed. "You're not Zarkon! Allura's going to fucking kill me! Fuuuuuck." He groaned, slumping back against the elevator wall. 

Keith observed in silence, almost in a trance. He was thinking. Used to relying on his instincts, he put his full effort into focusing on trying on make a plan. If he gave the cops some information, would he be able to get Shiro an out? 

A buzz of static emerged from the corner of the room. A broken, tinny voice broke out: "McClain! Come in McClain! Have you apprehended Wilson?" 

Lance looked Keith briefly in the eye, with an expression of panic: his eyes widened and eyebrows raised in an expression of terror. He fumbled around his walkie-talkie, searching for the button. "Uh. Garrett. It's McClain... Over."

"McClain, do you copy? Have you apprehended Lord Zarkon?"

"Umm. Yes and no?" Lance croaked. "I've got the drug dealer, but it's not Zarkon. It's... um. It-It's Keith. There was silence for a moment. Lance could feel the sweat dripping down his back, waiting in in apprehension for Hunk's reply. Keith heard a shuffling, as though was walkie-talkie was going through a change of hands. He looked at Lance, who had gone white as a ghost upon hearing this too. He slowly turned his head, and whispered to Keith, "Hunk called for back up." as though Keith was supposed to understand what that meant. 

A new voice answered. A woman's voice with a British accent, an agent of fury: " _WHO THE FUCK IS KEITH?_ "

A few hours later, Keith found himself in a holding cell, after Captain Altea had called the the fire services to release he and Lance from the elevator. Once they were free, Lance emerged shamefacedly from the elevator, pushing Keith in front of him as though he were a shield from the Captain's icy glare. 

Hunk approached the pair, and grabbed Keith by the shoulder firmly. He looked at Lance sadly, almost despairingly.  _I know._ Lance thought at him.  _I'm sorry._ But before he could make any kind of verbal connection with his friend, Hunk escorted Keith away to the police car outside the building. 

"Detective McClain." Allura said, standing tall with her arms firmed folded across her chest. Behind her stood Deputy Chief William Coran, looking faintly amused, but rather disappointed. He regarded Lance as though he were a naughty puppy he'd caught drinking toilet water. "We shall talk together later." She said pointedly, jerking her head towards towards Coran. Lance nodded, and followed Hunk outside the building, and into the passenger side of the car. 

"You were sure." Hunk said solemnly, as Lance settled into his seat. "You were so certain he was Zarkon. I'm so sorry, Lance - I shouldn't have called for back up."

"It's fine," Lance replied, abrasive. "You were just following orders. I could take a leaf from your book, honestly."

"But-"

"Not in front of the drug dealer, Hunk."

The rest of the drive continued in silence, as Keith observed the pair in the front seats. They seem like friends, close friends, although an air of tension between the pair was rife. Lance seemed embarrassed, and dipped in self-disgust, while the man he called Hunk appeared repentant and contrite, but Keith did not understand why he was so concerned for this friend. 

Following the short drive, Keith guided by Lance indoors - before Hunk promptly took over, leading him to the holding cell. Meanwhile, Lance had been summoned by Allura and Coran, to discuss his future. 

He stood before the desk where Captain Altea sat, flanked by Deputy Chief Coran standing erect behind her. They watched him enter, saying nothing until he stood directly in front of them. He couldn't help but feel stupid in his dirty civilian clothes, while they their wore crisp, blue uniforms, free of any grime. He could feel his knees going weak, and his palms sweaty out of fear for what was to come.

"I asked just one request of you, Lance." Allura began quietly, laying her palms on the desk. "Just one request. I asked you to call for back up  _only if you saw Wilson._ " Her tone became colder and colder, chilling Lance to the bone with every word. "But alas, we send down a flank of Seattle's most highly trained officer's for...  _Keith_. Who, Lance, is _Keith_?"

"He told me that he's a drug dealer, Captain. That he works for Zarkon." Lance said, staring at his feet.

"Is that it?" Allura said sharply. "Surely you and Officer Garrett could handle a little dealer by yourselves, no?

"Yes, Captain." Lance mumbled.

"Clearly, you couldn't. And we both know that Officer Garrett is not at fault, don't we McClain?"

"... Yes, Captain." 

Finally, Coran broke his silence. He stepped forward, looking at Lance with concern. "Do you have anything to say, Lance?" He asked softly. "Can you justify your actions?"

Lance, for once in his life, considered his words carefully before speaking. After a moment, he said: "Yes, I do. Keith has agreed to give us information on Zarkon in exchange for the safety of a colleague."

"He has?" Allura asked, surprised.  She spun around quickly in her chair, to speak privately with the Deputy Chief. "McClain, please leave so that we may speak alone. This may change things, but don't get me wrong - you're not out of the woods yet." 

Lance nodded, and slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. He couldn't believe he had escaped with his job, even barely. He almost wondered if he should thank the drug dealer for saving his skin, even if he didn't realise he had done it. Obviously, he decided against it. Instead, he approached Hunk.

"How did it go?" Hunk asked, outstretching his arms to envelope his friend in a hug. Lance accepted gratefully, allowing the anxiety to be squeezed out of him like a pulpy orange juice. 

"I'm still employed. For now, anyway." He told Hunk. "They're not done with me yet, though. I told them Keith is willing to give us information on Zarkon, in exchange for his friend or something."

"That's... kind of sweet, actually." Hunk admitted. "Anyway, I took his prints and his mugshot while you were in there, but the database is coming up empty - it's like he never existed."

"That's weird.. Did you try putting in his name?"

"There's a lot of Keith's in Seattle, Lance." Hunk sniggered. 

"Obviously." Lance rolled his eyes. "I meant his surname." 

 "Well, that's the thing: he won't tell me. I've been trying to get something out of him, but he won't say a word until you're there. Something about a plea?"

"The thing with the friend, right, yeah. I told him his information could could him a plea deal."

Hunk's face fell. "Lance - you cleared that with Allura, right?"

"Not... yet." He admitted. "I'm sure it'll be fine though. I can talk my way around it. I can do that. Usually. I think. Um. Yeah. ...Yeah." He glanced up at his friend, as his certainty faded away and the reality of his situation set in. "I can do it, right? Maybe the ice I'm on isn't that thin..."

"I don't know, Lance." Hunk said sincerely. "I really think you've shit in the nest this time."

The metallic clank of a heavy door being unlocked startled Keith out of his brooding. He slowly raised his head, as two people entered the room, and sat across the table from him. He had been expecting them; Thace had made a point of making sure Keith knew the faces of the local police force, so he knew who to avoid. Captain Allura Altea and Deputy Chief Coran sat side by side, observing him with steely, unreadable expressions. 

Feeling sweat drip down his back, Keith realised his had to remain in control. One slip up, and he was dead meat.

"So," He said loudly, "What do you guys want to know?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! :) If you liked it, please check out my other Voltron fics! I hope to update this within a week or two  
> 


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